By this time I had been able to look at the girl. She was a year or two older than myself, I thought, and the loveliest creature I had ever seen. She had large blue eyes of the rare shade called violet, a little round perhaps, but the long lashes did something to rectify that fault; and a delicate nose--turned up a little of course, else at her age she could not have been so pretty. Her mouth was well curved, expressing a full share of Paley’s happiness; her chin was something large and projecting, but the lines were fine. Her hair was a light brown, but dark for her eyes, and her complexion would have been enchanting to any one fond of the ‘sweet mixture, red and white.’ Her figure was that of a girl of thirteen, undetermined--but therein I was not critical. ‘An exceeding fair forehead,’ to quote Sir Philip Sidney, and plump, white, dimple-knuckled hands complete the picture sufficiently for the present. Indeed it would have been better to say only that I was taken with her, and then the reader might fancy her such as he would have been taken with himself. But I was not fascinated. It was only that I was a boy and she was a girl, and there being no element of decided repulsion, I felt kindly disposed towards her. Mrs Wilson turned to me. ‘Well, Master Cumbermede, you see I am able to give you more than I promised.’ ‘Yes,’ I returned; ‘you promised to show me the old house--’ ‘And here,’ she interposed, ‘I show you a young lady as well.’ ‘Yes, thank you,’ I said simply. But I had a feeling that Mrs Wilson was not absolutely well-pleased. I was rather shy of Miss Clara--not that I was afraid of her, but that I did not exactly know what was expected of me, and Mrs Wilson gave us no further introduction to each other. I was not so shy, however, as not to wish Mrs Wilson would leave us together, for then, I thought, we should get on well enough; but such was not her intent. Desirous of being agreeable, however--as far as I knew how, and remembering that Mrs Wilson had given me the choice before, I said to her-- ‘Mightn’t we go and look at the deer, Mrs Wilson?’ ‘You had better not,’ she answered. ‘They are rather ill-tempered just now. They might run at you. I heard them fighting last night, and knocking their horns together dreadfully.’ ‘Then we’d better not,’ said Clara. ‘They frightened me very much yesterday.’ We were following Mrs Wilson from the room. As we passed the hall-door, we peeped in. ‘Do you like such great high places?’ asked Clara. ‘Yes, I do,’ I answered. ‘I like great high places. It makes you gasp somehow.’ ‘Are you fond of gasping? Does it do you good?’ she asked, with a mock-simplicity which might be humour or something not so pleasant. ‘Yes, I think it does,’ I answered. ‘It pleases me.’ ‘I don’t like it. I like a quiet snug place like the library--not a great wide place like this, that looks as if it had swallowed you and didn’t know it.’